The gendered dimensions of "Zvezdi/Sterne" (1959) On the Bulgarian-East German co-production of Konrad Wolf's Holocaust film Nadège Ragaru 27 January 2016 As part of a special focus in "L'homme" on gender and Cold War visual cultures, Nadège Ragaru goes behind the scenes of Konrad Wolf's feature film "Zvezdi/Sterne", to look at how the film's Bulgarian and German partners conceived of the "Jewish catastrophe" and imagined gender roles. Distancing itself from earlier studies, recent scholarship on the cinematic representation of the Holocaust has demonstrated that the portrayal of anti-Jewish persecution did not remain taboo throughout the socialist era in eastern Europe. [1] A segment of this scholarly literature has explored the gendered dimensions of the filmic rendering of Jewish victimhood and agency in eastern Europe. In a recent contribution, for instance, Anke Pinkert has investigated the changing depictions of Jewish manhood in GDR cinema with a view to “re-examin[ing] discourses of victimization and perpetration”. [2] Focusing on the interpretation of womanhood in film, the present article aims to contribute to the growing body of literature by tracing the inception, making and reception of Zvezdi (Bulgarian title), or Sterne (German title), a Bulgarian-East German co-production directed by Konrad Wolf. The film, which was awarded the Special Jury Prize at the Cannes Festival in 1959, tells the story of an impossible love between a German Unteroffizier and a Greek Jewish woman who was detained with other Jews from Bulgarian-occupied Western Thrace in a Bulgarian transit camp, pending deportation to Poland. In the movie, Jewish suffering is primarily embodied in one female character, Ruth, a school teacher. In mainstream film history, the film has often been reduced to a DEFA (Deutsche Film- Aktiengesellschaft) movie and studied as a lens through which Konrad Wolf’s artistic career can be viewed. [3] This interpretation of Zvezdi/Sterne (“Stars”) as a German auteur film omits that the movie was the first in a series of artistic and financial co- productions by East Germany and Bulgaria. [4] Zvezdi/Sterne is based on a script by Page 1/14 Bulgarian writer Anzhel Wagenstein, himself a witness of the historical events recreated in the piece. As a member of a Jewish forced labour unit in Pirin Macedonia (Bulgaria), Wagenstein was working at a railway construction site when he witnessed the Jewish transports from northern Greece on their way to Poland. [5] In addition, as I have argued in detail elsewhere, the production of the movie was intended to strengthen bilateral relations within the “Soviet bloc”. Most important, the film is evidence of the painstaking negotiation process of creating a socialist memory of the Second World War and the Holocaust. [6] Within the framework of this article, I shall consider the allegorical use of womanhood from a cultural-historical perspective that treats films not only as visual, textual and auditory products, but also as part of a social process of collaboration. With a view to complementing the extant literature, which is based primarily on German archival material, the article analyses documents from the Bulgarian State Archives, notably the minutes of the meetings of the Bulgarian-German artistic council, which met most often in Sofia and occasionally in Babelsberg. These sources permit a rare insight into how the Bulgarian and German partners conceived of the “Jewish catastrophe” and imagined gender roles. Particular attention will be paid here to the use of Christian symbols to represent Jewish suffering. 1. Second to the man: Being a woman in a “Roman d’apprentissage” A classic melodrama, Zvezdi/Sterne revolves around three main characters: Walter, a painter turned into a German non-commissioned officer by the war; Kurt, his captain and friend, who is meant to typify the selfish, remorseless German fascist; [7] and Ruth, a Greek Jewish teacher. Disillusioned as he witnesses the regression of humanity to the stage of “chimpanzees” (one of his favourite terms) under the influence of the war, Walter undergoes a progressive transformation as he develops feelings for Ruth, a Jewish detainee he met in the camp. As he falls in love, he abandons his detached and contemplative attitude and decides to act. His commitment is originally limited to saving the woman he cherishes. Once this attempt fails – his German friend, Kurt, lies about the timing of the transport, so that when Walter comes to rescue Ruth, he finds the camp empty –, however, he offers his help to the Bulgarian Partisan movement, rallying the anti- fascist struggle. At the end of the learning process/film, Walter has come to realise that no human being can remain passive in the face of injustice and violence. In the movie, the fashioning of Walter as a reluctant would-be hero marks a striking departure from the conventional narratives of the previous years. In Bulgaria as in the GDR, mainstream anti-fascist movies, a well-established genre, had until then emphasized the virtue of the collective. They tended to reify the valour of the Partisan movement and criticized people with fledgling ideological beliefs and hesitant attitudes. However, Walter remains far removed from archetypical fascists and freedom fighters. He is the sole protagonist who experiences a character development in the course of the film. Even though the script emphasizes Ruth’s education, language skills (Ladino, Greek, German) and determination to protect her fellow inmates in the camp (including her reluctance to tell the truth about their ultimate destination), she becomes more and more resigned as the story advances. Most of her encounters with Walter occur as she is summoned up from the camp at night and engages in long walks alongside the German Page 2/14 Unteroffizier (permission is granted by Kurt, who believes that the detainee will provide welcome entertainment to his sad friend). During the first talk, Ruth is pictured sitting very upright at the top of a hill gazing at the horizon, while Walter sits below her in a gesture of abandonment. In later scenes the camera gives greater precedence to the male character, whose gentle, yet dominant position is confirmed at the moment when he bends over Ruth to kiss her. Confronted with the ruthlessness of the times, the Jewish teacher, who had preached hope in her initial encounter with Walter, fails to act beyond the expression of a dignified refusal to be saved. For the most part, she functions as the German Unteroffizier‘s conscience, telling him, “You are all responsible for what has happened over the past years.” “I did not want it”, he protests. Ruth replies, “You did not want it, but you let it happen.” [8] Was Ruth’s characterisation as a mostly passive protagonist, whose main function is seemingly to extol the virtues of the potentially good German male and to help him mature, intended by the scriptwriter and the Bulgarian-German artistic council? To answer this question, one must move away from the visuals and explore the bilateral discussions held during the production phase. With the establishment of socialist regimes in Eastern Europe, a state monopoly was instituted over the production and distribution of films. [9] Like their Soviet counterparts, Bulgarian and German socialist rulers regarded cinema as a powerful means of political education. In Bulgaria, a new public production company, D.P. Bulgarska Kinematografia, was established and placed under the authority of the Committee for Science, the Arts and Culture. In June 1950, the company underwent an organizational reform with the creation of an artistic council (hudozhestveni suveti), whose role was to define thematic plans, assess the quality of cinematic projects and determine whether films should be released or shelved. [10] Within D.P. Bulgarska Kinematografia’s three film studios (Documentary Studio, Feature Film Studio, Studio for Popular Educational Films) smaller artistic councils were set up with representatives of the various branches of the profession, who were responsible for overseeing the production process. They soon established themselves as both collaborative institutions and instruments of (self-)censorship. Following the signing of a co-production agreement between DEFA and the feature film Studio Boyana in May 1957, a dozen meetings took place, attended by a changing list of German participants: directors Konrad Wolf, Kurt Maetzig, and Wolfgang Kohlhaase; cinematographer Werner Bergman; script editor Willy Brückner; film producer Siegfried Nürnberger; and members of DEFA’s leadership, including DEFA director Albert Wilkening. These bilateral discussions yield useful insight into the interpretation of the heroine. In July 1958, for instance, the final version of Wagenstein’s screenplay awaited approval. On this occasion, filmmaker, scriptwriter, and actor Dako Dakovski, a member of the artistic council, explains how he understands Ruth’s role: In the first scene, the “discussion between Ruth and Walter at night during the walk’, Ruth’s attitude towards Walter seems unprepared, not motivated […]. Perhaps in this scene one should avoid this rapid opening, this rapid intimacy between Ruth and Walter. At present everything is uncovered from the first scene and somehow the relationship of Ruth to Walter does not play any role further down the storyline in the fate and the behaviour of Walter. [11] Page 3/14 Ruth’s instrumental position is further outlined when members of the council criticise the fact that the Jewish teacher Ruth is presented as the main force behind the moral rehabilitation of Walter. Communist writer Pavel Vezhinov, a member of the artistic council, makes this point clear: The greatest weakness lies in the fact that the Bulgarian side is rendered mechanically […] in an external, declarative, and stereotyped way. […] The actual dramatic conflict lies between Walter and Ruth. Walter is a good guy with a certain level of integrity – he builds a bit of theory to present himself as a clean person and closes his eyes to the crimes committed around him.